


Kissed

by badass_normal



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-06
Updated: 2009-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badass_normal/pseuds/badass_normal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some guards that need distracting. Sara comes up with an interesting way to go about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissed

There are four unexpected guards, guards not taken account of in their careful planning. Mahone had taken Self and T-Bag, and the three of them had been in charge of "dismantling," or "rendering inert" various "factors" in Christina Rose's security system, but they hadn't gotten these guys, and now Sara is standing just around the corner from the seemingly nondescript alley with Michael, Lincoln and Gretchen.

"So, mastermind, what do we do about these guys? If you hadn't noticed, we're kind of in a public place, so opening fire from here's not exactly an option," Gretchen sneers unhelpfully.

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose, but Lincoln turns to the other woman scathingly. "Can't you make yourself useful?" he snaps, gesturing to her partially unbuttoned, very form-fitting blouse and the crescent of skin between her jeans and the bottom edge of said blouse.

For the duration of all this Scylla, bring-down-the-Company business, Sara has been periodically called on to be the "distraction." Or the "titillation," perhaps? The helpless female, whether clad in a suit, a push-up bra, or a bikini. For the first time, she's grateful Gretchen's on the team, because frankly, she does not enjoy the degrading role of seductress.

But Gretchen's folded her arms and rolled her eyes at the men. "Seriously? Cleavage is disarming, but it's hardly a failsafe."

Sara recalls her experience with the guard at the horse races, and privately agrees, although she would absolutely never sink so low as to confirm out loud anything Gretchen said. Because dammit, she had looked good in that halter, even if she hated herself for looking in the mirror beforehand and grinning at the white flesh that for decency's sake she never really exposed.

"Perhaps having the outcome of the mission hinge on the power of a pair of—of—_breasts_," and Sara loves the way Michael can hardly say it, "isn't the best move."

"Although at this point, distraction is probably the only way to get the jump on them," Gretchen offers. "Just—well, think about it. If you were in charge of guarding the covert headquarters of Christina Rose Scofield, would you really let a pair of tits call you off?"

Sara thinks perhaps it's been a bit too long since Lincoln's had any action, because he looks as though his answer to the question might be embarrassing.

Then she feels Gretchen's eyes on her, and resents the smirk breaking over her face. "Of course, two pairs of tits might do the trick."

It's a challenge, and she hears Michael all but hiss in her defense, and she really, really shouldn't care, but the tone of Gretchen's voice, the unspoken question of whether Sara's really bold enough to unbutton her own blouse and sashay past a group of hired men, whether she can pull off the kind of thing Gretchen does effortlessly all the fucking time—it's really too much for her to ignore.

So she does one better, unbuttoning her blouse all the way and tugging it off her shoulders, so she's in a sheer, white camisole, and Michael puts a hand on her forearm. "Do you guys really think a bunch of professionals are going to be swayed by skimpy clothing?"

Then Sara gets an idea. A vicious, horrible idea, but one that she's pretty sure will absolutely floor not only Michael and Lincoln, but Gretchen as well, and that's inexplicably what counts. Rendering the other woman speechless at the Safari motel was a satisfying moment; maybe she can get a healthy dose of that feeling once again.

Tearing her arm away from Michael, she clasps her hand with Gretchen's and tugs her around the corner, in full view of the guards, shoves her against the wall, and plants a thorough, open-mouthed kiss on her former torturer.

Gretchen IS completely taken aback, but it takes her only a second to respond to Sara's improvised, ridiculous plan. Because there are few things that draw a man's attention like two tall, attractive women making out.

Sara remembers talks with her roommate, who had drunkenly blurred the lines of sexual orientation many times. She remembers being told by a mischievous smile that women are better kissers than men, as a rule, and that Sara ought to just once try kissing a member of her own gender to see for herself. That roommate definitely had something going there, because no matter how sick the thought of Gretchen generally makes her, Sara cannot deny that this is a kiss unlike any she's ever experienced. In a good way.

She's being plundered without being invaded, swallowed without being eaten. If Michael, who happens to be one of the greatest kissers of all time, can fuck her with only a kiss, Gretchen can…make love. Which is a little ironic, given that in the literal senses of the words, Gretchen probably does a lot more fucking and Michael probably only makes love.

Opening her eyes, she whispers against Gretchen's mouth. "The guards. Is this working?"

"Yeah," Gretchen replies, flicking her tongue softly against Sara's upper lip. "Just make it look hot."

Kissing Gretchen once more, she then whispers, "that needs to be a team effort."

"Remember who you're talking to." And Gretchen grips the side of her face and pulls her in deeper.

With the other woman's tongue so closely entwined with her own, Sara finds herself slipping into a dangerous place where her breath is being taken away. In fact, it starts to scare her, even as she can't help her hand trailing down the exaggerated curve of Gretchen's waist, as she slips her thumb against the inside of her sharp hip bone, and then there's the genuine gasp that escapes her lips all of a sudden, shameful, and she has to accept that she's enjoying this far too much.

Gretchen reverses their positions quite abruptly, flipping Sara around so she can feel the hard wall against her back, and now Gretchen's much more forceful, the kiss more demanding than Sara was originally prepared to handle. A thigh slides between her legs, a hand ghosting over the skin of her abdomen, underneath the tight camisole. She finds herself absently wondering, even as thought and reason slowly begin to abandon her, how it never occurred to her that someone who could inflict such perfectly calculated torture might also be able to inflict equally traumatizing pleasure with that same touch.

Once again opening her eyes, now she's the one who can see the guards. They are, alarmingly, all gaping, entranced, and really, the world might be doomed if something as valuable as Scylla can be compromised by the opportunity for voyeurism. They do not appear to recognize either her or Gretchen.

A finger under her chin turns her mouth back to Gretchen's again, and now Sara's pretty sure that she isn't the only one getting carried away. "For such a cutie, you sure are a dirty kisser," Gretchen taunts as they pause very briefly to get their breaths. Then to Sara's horror, she feels Gretchen's hand travel high up enough to cup her breast.

"Fuck it," Sara growls, arching into Gretchen's touch. A hand is in her hair, tugging her neck into a vulnerable arch, and there are teeth digging in where her shoulder and neck meet. She recognizes the suckling on her skin, and oh God, she's going to have a mark there, but the thought sends a horrific stab of arousal through her.

That's the first time the word "arousal" enters the equation, and the wrongness of it only serves to exacerbate the situation. She comes very close to shoving Gretchen away, and fuck the mission, because this is scary, and out of control and unfamiliar, but that is not an option. She can't let that get in the way of something so important, so she puts her hand on the nape of Gretchen's neck and connects their lips again.

Now the kiss is different. It's still not a guy kiss. Guys can't use their teeth like this, and Sara thinks it might have to do with the delicate art of giving head that gives Gretchen, and probably many other women including herself, such a fine-tuned ability to graze each other's lips in an almost-nibble without being unpleasant. And it's aggressive and hot without being rough. It's consuming. Ravaging.

Then Gretchen tears away from her, and Sara whimpers at the loss of contact. Michael and Lincoln have gotten the jump on the guards, they're ready to continue. They've got a mission to accomplish.

Weak-kneed, Sara follows Gretchen to the entrance to this covert hide-out, and finds Michael's eyes. He looks humiliated and upset and shocked. Not quite disgusted, but definitely not approving.

Lincoln looks a little calmer about the whole thing. "Nice job," he acknowledges, because he isn't personally involved. He isn't dating either of them. And unlike Michael, he isn't hyper-observant. Because now Sara is suddenly afraid that Michael's noticed that she's flushed, turned on. That that had been much more than a kiss.

He wordlessly hands her her shirt, and as Sara slips it back over her arms, hands shaking slightly, she feels Gretchen's hand tuck into the small of her back.

"You taste good," is whispered in her ear, and a shudder scampers down Sara's spine.

"Either of you have a breath mint?" she asks the brothers sweetly, her voice sounding a lot more deadpanned than she feels.

Gretchen laughs. "I'm more in need of a cold shower, I think."

Fucking creepy. Resisting the urge to slide closer to Michael, Sara quips in response, "maybe you can find a red-headed lady to fuck you in prison when you get locked up?"

A beat or two, as Michael and Lincoln look between the two of them. "Well-played, Sara," Gretchen replies, smiling quietly before turning away.

Sara takes a deep breath. She made it through that confrontation, at least. But she wouldn't refuse a cold shower at the moment, either.


End file.
